The Lie You Tell Yourself
by Lord of Impeccable Timing
Summary: A deeper look into Gokudera's tragic psyche. Mild and I mean it! yaoi:Gokudera/Yamamoto, Gokudera/Hibari
1. Dressed in Tragedy

So I'm back with another new fanfiction...I'm not dead, I swear. This one's a bit of a far cry from my usual stuff, but it's just something I've been feeling lately/a sign that I've searched DeviantArt too much for reference material for Reborn art. Oh, and don't be too intimidated by the length of this chapter; it all evens out in the end.

Disclaimer #1: I don't think it actually needs to be rated M, as there's a minimum of swearing and violence and stuff, but thematically it might fall under M. Just in case, it's M.

Disclaimer #2: I don't own this show or any of its characters.

Disclaimer #3: I don't do shipping, ever. But see the above note on DeviantArt searching.

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My name is Hayato Gokudera. I'm the right-hand man of the Vongola's 10th boss. Or so I keep telling everybody. The truth of the matter is that I feel like I'm not up for the task. I'm highly concerned for his safety, yes, but...I'm weak. I've lost so many fights for the 10th; I just keep failing him. I don't understand why I'm still so weak. Hasn't growing up in a world that hates me made me strong? Wouldn't being a bastard in the underworld prepare me for such a task? That's what I thought...I guess I was wrong.

This fear of mine has manifested itself over the course of the weeks following the Ring Conflict. Watching everybody else win...while I couldn't...it was devastating. I was so weak, despite all the training I had done with Shamal; I still am. The only difference is that now my weakness is coupled with an unholy self-loathing. I don't think anybody has noticed; I put on a good show in front of the 10th--I wouldn't want to worry him. I think he suspects that something is amiss; after all, it was the middle of our science class, and I was missing.

Well, I wasn't "missing," per say. I left the class for a smoke on the roof, and I never did that. Today, I needed it. He and Yamamoto were just too damn cheery--not that they shouldn't be, of course; I just couldn't handle all the happiness around me when inside I was empty. I didn't want to spoil the 10th's day.

I removed the cigarette from my lips, blowing smoke into the crisp morning air, slightly blurring my view of the city. That morning was unseasonably cool, but I couldn't feel it. I couldn't feel anything except my own hatred of myself and my weakness. So lost within my thoughts, I took no notice of the door opening and closing somewhere behind me. It was a surprise to me when somebody grabbed my shoulder and forcefully turned me around; I nearly stumbled and fell off the roof.

"What are you doing up here, Hayato Gokudera?" I wasn't shocked that the person up here with me was Hibari; he never seemed to be in class, but was always around when you even considered breaking a rule. I was breaking at least two.

"Smoking," I replied blandly, blowing some smoke in his face. It wasn't necessarily for any added effect; I still had some in my lungs when he turned me around, and it needed to be expelled.

Needless to say, he was irritated. "That's against the rules. You can't smoke on school grounds."

I should've just stopped there, but there was no point in doing that. "And what are you going to do about it?"

His eyes narrowed hatefully, and he growled, "I'll bite you to death."

I rolled my eyes.

He punched me in the face.

My hands flew to where his fist had impacted, checking for blood. Yep, I was bleeding; he might even have broken my nose. I didn't have any time to inspect for structural damage, however, as he grabbed me by my hair and slammed me into the rooftop. To be honest, I think I was lucky, in a way, to remain conscious. I could have been dead.

There was a moment where Hibari paused. I wasn't sure if he was debating on how to continue kicking the crap out of me, or if he was thinking about something else. Then again, I didn't particularly care what he was thinking about; I was more concerned with how much blood I was losing.

Hibari appeared particularly pissed when he picked me up by the front of my shirt and slammed me against the door. I had a fraction of a thought about how this was going to damage a multitude of my brain cells before his hiss distracted me.

"Why aren't you fighting back, Hayato Gokudera?" I don't know if he was more irritated or confused.

The worst part was that I didn't have an answer. I just spat blood in his face. A malevolent grin came to his face; that certainly wasn't a good sign.

"You're different today," he stated, moving slightly closer. "What's wrong with you?"

"You interrupted my smoke," I lied, having difficulty seeing through the blood pouring over my left eye. I was hoping he'd just knock me unconscious so I could leave.

"That's not it," he informed, again narrowing his eyes, but in a more inspecting manner this time. "Something's not right."

"Is it the blood? I bet it's the blood."

He kicked me in the shin. Apparently antagonizing him wasn't working as well as it usually would. "Don't fuck with me, Hayato Gokudera. What's wrong with you?"

Now I was starting to get irritated. "What are you talking about? Everything was great until you attacked me."

I think the subtle hint of rage in my voice appeased whatever qualms he had--or, at least, allayed them sufficiently--which allowed him to continue uninhibited. He leaned in more, putting his face uncomfortably close to mine; I would have thought something obscene would happen if not for two things: that malicious glint in his eye, and the fact that it was Hibari. "That's more like you," he murmured evilly, moving even closer.

I assumed that he would punctuate that statement with another attack, probably in my unprotected midsection. I was wrong. He got as close to me as he could without touching me, and then, after a fraction of a moment, he did, pressing his lips against mine. I was surprised--no, that doesn't even begin to cover it; shocked and terrified hardly began to cover the strange, paralyzing sensation that overtook my mind and body when he kissed me. I couldn't even begin to process what was happening.

This paralysis lasted only ten, maybe fifteen seconds, but it felt like time had stopped. I finally shoved him off, unintentionally knocking my already-throbbing head against the door. Confusion and disgust comingled on my expression, and Hibari seemed to take that poorly. Great.

Shockingly, his face turned a little red as he averted his attention momentarily. He stepped back over to me, grabbing me by the front of my shirt again. This time, I didn't know what to think was going to happen, and I prepared myself for the worst.

"You are to tell nobody of this," he instructed lethally, glaring at me despite the fact that his face still burned red.

I blinked. "Who the fuck would I tell about this--?"

"That's what I suspected," Hibari interrupted, punching me in the stomach. I think that hit, which left me breathless and gasping for air, was meant to distract me from the hit I was to receive moments later from his tonfa; it hit hard enough to break the door's hinges and knock me down the stairs. I lost count, but I think my head hit four stairs before nailing the tile floor.

Classes must have changed while I was getting my ass kicked. There were no footsteps or sounds of life in the hallway. For a few moments, I laid on the floor, moving in and out of consciousness. Eventually, I heard the sound of footsteps; it sounded like two people to me.

"Gokudera!"

"Is he okay?"

"Look, he's bleeding TO THE EXTREME!"

"We need to get him to the clinic."

"Come on, Yamamoto, help me carry him."

I was wrong, there were three. I don't know exactly what happened next because I finally passed out.

When I awoke again, I immediately recognized that I was in the clinic based on the whiteness of the room. At first, I thought I was alone; I soon discovered that I was wrong again.

"Oh, Gokudera! You're awake!"

What was that baseball-nut doing in here? "How long was I out?" I asked, my hand reaching instinctively to where there had been blood earlier. The wounds were cleaned and bandaged; something told me that it wasn't Shamal's doing.

"About half an hour," Yamamoto replied hurriedly. "What happened to you?"

What the fuck kind of idiotic question was that? "Hibari kicked the crap out of me."

"Hibari? Why?"

Was he serious? "Because I was skipping class and smoking."

"Why didn't you fight back?" He seemed way too concerned about the situation.

I wasn't going to answer him truthfully. No chance. "I didn't need to be in any more trouble."

He didn't seem moved. "Gokudera, how are you feeling?"

How the fuck did he think I felt? "I ache."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

I couldn't help it; I had to ask. "What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Oh." He scratched the back of his head and laughed nervously in his signature fashion. "I was worried about you, so I decided to wait until you woke up."

That's a lie. "Well, I'm up. You can leave now."

"I want to make sure you're okay before I go."

"My ass."

"What?"

Shit. What should have remained a thought apparently didn't. "I want to know what you're doing here. You can't be concerned about me."

Yamamoto blinked stupidly, like he didn't understand. "What are you talking about? You're my friend and I like you; why wouldn't I be concerned?"

"Friend, huh?" I snorted in contempt. There was no way.

"Yeah, I'm your friend! Gokudera, I'm worried about you. You're acting strange, and now you're hurt. I want to know what's going on," he demanded, trying to glare at me. Of course, it was the baseball-nut, so it had no effect.

"Nothing's going on," I informed flatly, averting my attention elsewhere.

"Gokudera! I want to know what's wrong. I'm really worried. I wish you would tell me what was wrong."

"It's nothing. What do you care, anyway?"

"We're friends and I care about you." I stopped listening after that, but I was sure that he kept talking. The rant continued for a short while, and I could tell by the intonation of his voice that it was coming to an end. I tuned back in just in time to hear something that I wish I hadn't. "And I love you."

Surprise didn't even remotely begin to cover the emotion and expression I had when I turned back to him; hell, shock and horror hardly began to cover it. That baseball-nut turned bright red and scratched the back of his head while laughing nervously. I didn't say anything to him; I just stared uncomfortably.

"That just kind of slipped out," he murmured awkwardly. "Well, can't take it back now."

Oh, how I wish he could. "You've got to be kidding."

He shook his head, his blush intensifying slightly. "No, Gokudera...I'm not."

Somehow, a part of me knew he wasn't. And it was so disgusted that it didn't even gloat. "I need to get out of here," I stated flatly, sitting up a little too quickly. After recovering from my momentary vertigo, I swung my feet over the side of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Yamamoto immediately asked, flying to his feet. "You're injured!"

"I'm going home," I grumbled, getting to my feet.

"But Gokudera--" Too late. I had already shut the door with significantly more force than was necessary. There was a part of me that realized that I had probably hurt that baseball-nut, but that part of me had been stifled by some secondary part that had come to dominate my persona lately, and I didn't give a fuck about his feelings.

I don't really know what happened that evening. I got home in the early afternoon, I assume, after stumbling around the city for at least half an hour, and I went directly to bed. For a while, I simply lay there, trying to silence my brain. I tossed and turned restlessly, my mind racing, attempting to process my life. Stressful enough a prospect when things are going well, the same task was phenomenally more difficult in my current mental and physical state. My thoughts shot from one topic to another in an incomprehensible pattern. What was Yamamoto's plan, saying those things to me? I don't think all of my wounds were properly attended to. How was it that I was so weak that I couldn't even defend myself against Hibari? Hibari...why did he kiss me? Just what the fuck was going on?

These and a thousand other unnecessary thoughts plagued me as I slipped between sleep and consciousness. My mind hadn't rested at all, and my body was impatient, unable to remain in bed any longer. As I rose from bed, I glanced at the clock. 2:34. It was late, but my restless body refused to let me lay any longer. I made my way into the main living room of my apartment, I happened to glance at the answering machine on the table. The red light was blinking, meaning that there was a message. Curious, I made my way over to the machine. Seven messages. Why did I have seven messages? Nobody ever called me...nobody cared enough to try and contact me. I pressed the button.

"_Hey Gokudera, it's Yamamoto. I just called to make sure you got home alright. Nobody's heard from you in a while--_" Delete.

"_Gokudera, it's Yamamoto--_" Delete.

"_Hey Gokudera, it's Tsuna._" The 10th? I hope I hadn't worried him too much. "_I hope you're feeling alright; Yamamoto said you'd gone home to rest. I guess I'll call back when you're up; you're probably napping. I'll talk to you later._"

Beep.

"_Gokudera, it's Tsuna again. I guess you're still sleeping. I'll try again later._"

Beep.

"_Gokudera! We're worried TO THE EXTREME! You need to pick up the phone!_"

Beep.

What an idiot.

"_Gokudera, it's Yamamoto. I'm really worried--_" Delete.

"_Gokudera, it's Tsuna. I just wanted to know how you were doing--_"

"_Did he answer it?_"

"_No, it's the answering machine again. Did you get him before, Yamamoto?_"

"_No, it was the answering machine then, too._"

"_Why won't he pick up?_"

"_We should go to his house and see if he's okay._"

"_Do you know where he lives?_"

"_No._"

I stared blankly at the answering machine as I groped around the table for my cigarettes and matchbook. I guess they never did see my apartment...not that I'd want them to...

"_We have to find him TO THE EXTREME!_"

"_Can't we just look him up in the phonebook, right Tsuna?_"

"_I don't see why not--Ow! Reborn!_"

"_Why are you tying up the phone line so late at night?_"

"_We're trying to get a hold of octopus-head._"

"_Oh no! Is the answering machine still recording?!_" Click.

Beep.

That was the last message. I pressed another button, and all of the messages were erased. Like they had never been there. Like they had never been...

I walked out to my small balcony, shutting the door behind me. I wasn't concerned if the phone rang; after all, it was nearly three in the morning; the others should have been sleeping. I removed a cigarette from the carton, shoving the rest into my pocket, and struck a match. Lighting the cancer stick, I shook out the match and tossed it off the balcony. Taking that first long drag, my thoughts returned to myself. Self-centered, yes, but entirely true; I couldn't stop obsessing over my own weaknesses. How was it that I wasn't able to beat that narcissistic "prince" with the trip wires? Was I really that weak?

I blew the smoke from that first inhalation from my lungs, staring at the haze it created over the lights of the city. Was my weakness physical, or mental? Emotional, maybe? I didn't know; I was so confused. What was it that kept preventing me from fulfilling my duties as the 10th's right-hand man? Unfortunately, I had no answers. Nobody had any answers--so I assumed; it wasn't like I was going to ask anybody else why I sucked so much. I wasn't about to admit my weakness to anybody else. Naturally, that was a self-deluded scheme to keep myself mildly saner than I was; if I noticed that I was weak, surely the 10th did.

Throughout my mental ravings, convoluted though they were to begin with, disjointed, irrelevant thoughts permeated my brain. What the fuck was wrong with Hibari and Yamamoto? Had those two occurrences merely been a figment of my overly-stressed imagination? If so, why was I having homoerotic fantasies? If not, then just what was going on?

I took another drag from my cigarette, expelling the smoke in front of me again. Looking through the carcinogenic haze, it felt like I was trying to look into my own psyche: it was foggy, difficult to discern what I was seeing, and unhealthy for me and anybody around me. It was incredibly sudden, how my exhaustion came over me; I nearly collapsed right there on the balcony. I flicked my cigarette butt off into the empty street before returning inside, sliding the glass door shut behind me. As I trudged back to the hateful resting place, my thoughts became quieter and quieter, more and more convoluted, and less and less frequent. I collapsed into my bed in total silence.

A shrieking siren pierced that silence, momentarily stopping my heart. As a reaction, I slammed my fist into the alarm clock on my nightstand, ending the offensive noise. Slowly, my groggy eyes opened, glancing about to check the time. I don't know entirely why I was checking it; the alarm went off at the same hour every day, giving me just enough time to shower and dress before meeting the 10th outside his house. Out of sheer habit, my body picked itself up off my bed and moved me toward the bathroom.

Unfortunately, I'm not entirely sure what happened after that; darkness overtook my vision again. I must have fallen asleep again; I woke up some time later, confused about why I was laying on the bathroom floor. I thought about it for a few moments before determining what had passed, slowly getting to a sitting position in the meanwhile. A moment passed before I realized that I was late. I shot to my feet, stumbling back to my bedroom to check the time. I had five minutes before class began. Fuck me.

Even I don't entirely know how I did it, but I managed to dress myself and get out of the house in those five minutes, forgetting both breakfast and lunch as I slammed the door shut. I tore through the streets, dragging my school bag behind me and running over more than my fair share of small children, old ladies, and stray animals on my way to Namimori Middle. Thankfully, I didn't run into Hibari as I sprinted into the building, darting past the Disciplinary Committee to get to my homeroom. Finally, I got to the room, threw the door open, and stumbled in. I can't quite say how else I felt, ignoring the sheer relief of arriving.

"Mr. Gokudera, would you kindly take your seat?" I was having difficulty hearing over the blood rushing through my ears, but I assumed that the teacher said something to that effect. Staggering to my feet, I trudged over to the empty seat next to the 10th and collapsed into the chair. I sighed in relief, throwing my bag onto the desk and began searching for my notebook in a zombie-like manner.

"Gokudera, are you alright?" the 10th inquired quietly, leaning over ever so slightly.

"I'm fine, 10th," I answered happily, waving the question off before returning to my bag. I was having immense difficulty figuring out what was where in my bag, and I'd been looking for my notebook for a good five minutes at that point.

"You look like hell," Yamamoto stated in a manner that would have sounded like concern if I were listening (I wasn't). The 10th nodded in agreement, looking worried. Great, I'd gone and worried the 10th.

"It's nothing," I informed quickly, again waving off the comment. "I just had a rough night, that's all."

"What happened?"

I glared at that baseball-nut, wishing I could hit him without agitating the 10th even more. "I didn't sleep much," I curtly responded, turning away from the two of them. Did I really look like I'd had that bad of a night? Probably; my clothes weren't ironed, my hair wasn't brushed, and I was fairly certain that my shoes didn't match.

"Gokudera's a mess today," I overheard somebody grumble. It took me a moment, but I realized that it was that irritable broad, the friend of the 10th's crush--Hana? Maybe; I didn't care particularly--making the comment. Unfortunately, I had to let it go.

"I hope he's alright," the 10th's crush, Kyoko, responded in her irritatingly soft tone.

"He was probably out haranguing some other punks and got his ass kicked. I don't think you should spend so much time with them, Kyoko; they're bad news."

I tapped out of the conversation at that point; there wasn't a need to feel worse about myself. I wouldn't be able to handle it if the 10th's heart was broken because of me. Instead, I focused on the teacher's lecture--rather, I intended to, before the bell rang.

Irritated at the noise (it was too similar to my alarm clock), I staggered to my feet, grabbed my bag, and followed the 10th and the baseball-nut out of the room. It was lunchtime, so we headed toward the stairs to the roof.

I think it was because I hadn't eaten breakfast and hadn't slept, but I was feeling weak, and I hardly could make it up the stairs with the others. Luckily, I managed to make it to the top, only to collapse a few feet from the door.

"Are you sure you're alright, Gokudera?" If that fucking baseball-nut asked that again, I was going to punch him in the nose.

"Shut up, Yamamoto, just shut up." I wish that had come out more angry than exasperated; I couldn't even roll over to glare at him.

"Gokudera, Yamamoto, stop it," Tsuna chided, looking between the two of us in vexation. "Can't we just have lunch in peace for once?"

"Fine," I grumbled, sighing heavily. I couldn't do anything to upset the 10th more than I had already.

There was a pause while the 10th and Yamamoto took out their lunches; it was just long enough for me to begin to fall asleep again. As my eyes closed, the baseball-nut decided that it was the opportune moment to disrupt my slumber.

"Gokudera, aren't you going to have lunch?" he asked through whatever he was eating. That's classy right there, talking with your mouth full of food; he better not do that if he's out with the 10th.

"I'm not hungry," I lied unsuccessfully; my stomach rumbled as soon as I got the words out of my mouth. Whining slightly under my breath, I wrapped my hands around my midsection, putting some pressure on my stomach to alleviate the hunger pangs. It didn't help much, although I did discover that I could feel something other than nothing in that moment.

"Didn't you bring a lunch?" the 10th questioned, leaning over so I could see him. He seemed concerned. Great; I went and bothered him even more.

"No." The concern grew on his face. Could today get any worse?

"I've got something in my locker; Haru gave it to me on the way to school this morning. Let me go get it for you," the 10th offered, getting to his feet and walking out of my line of vision.

"No, 10th, you don't--" Too late. The door already shut. Now I was stuck immobile on the roof with the baseball-nut. I wanted to curl up in a ball and pretend like I didn't exist, but that wasn't happening.

"Gokudera, what's wrong?" he murmured, leaning over me so I could see him. It would have been so easy to punch him in the face right then, if only I could move. Fate was a cruel bitch.

"Nothing," I grumbled, furrowing my brow. "I just didn't sleep well last night...or eat...or anything..."

"Where were you? We called like 5 times--"

"Seven--"

"Did you even get home last night?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you answer the phone?"

"I was trying to sleep." That was more or less the truth. Aside, did it matter if I lied to him? It was just the baseball-nut.

He sighed heavily. "Gokudera, I'm really worried about you."

Hm, I feel like we've had this conversation before.

"I just want to know what's going on in your head. You're acting funny, and you're avoiding everybody. Hell, you were late to school this morning, and you look like you spent the night on the street. Something's wrong, and I want to know what it is." He seemed determined to know exactly what was wrong; unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen.

"It's nothing--"

"Don't lie to me," he interrupted, looking stern. If it wasn't Yamamoto, the expression would have been intimidating. I averted my attention, not wanting to look into his simultaneously pleading and irritated eyes: I didn't even have that much emotion in my entire being; it was just wrong that he could have so much in just his eyes.

"Look, it doesn't concern you," I finally informed, narrowing my glance into a rather pathetic glare. "I'm fine; don't worry about it."

He almost seemed sad as he sat back, sighing heavily again. I didn't know what his problem was, nor did I care. I closed my eyes to both block out the sun and rest them; it was getting hard to keep them open (having not slept much). I didn't know how long I lay there, but all too soon, I felt his presence over my head again.

"What--?" My attempt was to complain to him, asking what he wanted this time, but that didn't happen. Maybe I would have seen it coming if I had bothered to open my eyes. I guess it wouldn't have mattered; I wouldn't have been able to move anyway. While I laid unaware, that baseball-nut leaned over and kissed me. It wasn't as intensive as when Hibari kissed me the day before, but still, the soft tough of his lips against mine was unnerving, unnatural. The worst part was that I wasn't able to do anything about it.

Finally, he drew back, looking somewhere between self-gratified and concerned; my expression was somewhere between disturbed and disgusted. I don't care if he took it well.

"I won't bother you about whatever's bothering you any more, Hayato," he murmured, still leaning over me with that somber look on his face. "I'll only interfere if I think you're getting hurt. I just want you to know that I'm here for you and I care about you."

That was not reassuring in the slightest. Like with Hibari, I had no response; all I could do was stare in disbelief. Yamamoto smiled at me with that dopey, goofy smirk that he always had, and he sat back for the second time.

Luckily for me, the 10th returned at that moment; I could tell by the sound of the door shutting. My stomach gurgled again; I'd already forgotten that I hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday.

"Here, Gokudera," the 10th announced, placing a bento box at my side. "Haru made it for me, but I already had a lunch. I hope it's good."

"Thank you, 10th," I replied, forcing myself to sit up. Needless to say that eating lunch was a difficult task. The 10th offered to assist, but that baseball-nut took the task upon himself. I wasn't pleased.

Luckily, the door flew open again. Unfortunately, this time it was Hibari. I wasn't sure that I wanted to see him.

"Are you three crowding?" he interrogated, not bothering to pretend like he was going to greet us.

The 10th cowered, as per usual. It always bothered me that he did that. "H-Hibari! N-no, we're not crowding! I swear!"

Hibari simply glared. I was growing to dislike that stare more and more every day. "Class is starting," he informed begrudgingly. "I suggest you leave."

"R-right away, Hibari!" The 10th flew to his feet, preceding Yamamoto. I didn't think I would be able to get to my feet very easily, but I didn't have long to ponder on that. Hibari grabbed the front of my shirt, picking me up in an all-too-familiar manner.

"You were late this morning," he stated, not quite factually. "And your wrinkled clothes are in violation of the dress code."

For a moment, I thought he was kidding. But then I remembered that it was Hibari. "Seriously?" I groaned, having more or less resigned myself to getting my ass kicked again. I suppose it was the only thing that assured me that I was still alive.

An unreadable look came to Hibari's face. "This is your only warning," he decided, putting me back on my feet. "Don't let it happen again." Confused, I lifted my eyebrow, looking over him, trying to figure out just what was going through his head. I realized that he wasn't staring necessarily at my face while he spoke; he had been staring at the bandages from the damage he'd caused the day before. If it weren't Hibari, I would have thought that he felt guilty.

Still unsure of what just happened, I cautiously followed behind the 10th, watching my footing to ensure that I didn't fall; a part of me felt like he wouldn't be pleased if I caused the both of us to crash down the stairs. The weird thing was that the majority of me wouldn't have minded hurtling down those stairs, no matter who else it hurt; it was the first link in the chain of unfortunate events that would dominate the next few days of my life.

Afternoon classes were just as difficult as morning classes, if not more so. My head was pounding again, and I couldn't focus on the teacher's lecture. Yamamoto, who sat behind me, was also a distraction, occasionally touching me, gripping my shoulder. I couldn't muster enough energy to care enough to snap at him; I think he noticed. Another distraction was Hibari, who was actually in class that day; he sat a few desks away, continually flicking his attention my way as I struggled to stay awake. After class ended, the 10th suggested that I head home to rest; I had no choice but to concede.

Like the day before, I collapsed upon entering my apartment, not even making it past the entryway before falling. For a few hours, I slept restlessly, my mind still uneasy; apparently my sleep was deep enough, as I managed to sleep through five more phone calls from the 10th, Yamamoto, and Ryohei; I deleted them all without listening.

I shuffled past the kitchen, ignoring the pangs in my stomach, having yet to satiate its appetite. On my way to the balcony, I grabbed my carton of cigarettes and the lighter. Before sliding the door opened, I chanced a glance at the clock: 12:27. Still apathetic, I stepped outside, shutting the door behind me, for another of my pensive smokes.

That night, my foremost thought was the sudden apathy that had taken over me. It would have been worrisome, if I could feel anything other than the crushing emptiness. It was like I had been divided inside: one part of me, despite being unfeeling, thought in the same manner that I always have, wanting me to act out of consideration for the 10th; the other part, a significantly greater part, simply didn't care enough to consider anybody or anything, or, hell, to even act. Even at that time, I sensed that this apathetic part of me was dominating my usual persona; it was as though that part of me was smothered by a thick pillow, slowly suffocating, and, one day, would die. I didn't want that, but I couldn't muster up enough energy to care.

I took a long drag from my cigarette, slowly expelling the smoke from my lungs. Sighing, I tapped the ash from the end of my cancer stick, feeling even more apathetic than when I lit up a few minutes ago. At that moment, my thoughts strayed again to Yamamoto and Hibari, but the notion died quickly; I couldn't even bring myself to care what their schemes were.

To be honest, it bothered me, this apathy. Why couldn't I feel anything, other than this abominable utter emptiness? Hadn't I been full of hate just twenty-four hours ago? What was wrong with me? My eyes lowered, unable to form themselves into even the weakest of glares, landing on the smoldering cigarette butt between my fingers. I had heard of kids putting their death sticks out with their own flesh; perhaps that was where I'd gotten the idea. At the time, I acted without thought; I instinctively turned the carcinogenic embers on myself, burning the flesh of my weaker arm.

Pain, hot and sharp, seared through the layers of tissue on my arm around the cigarette butt. I gasped, surprised more at the fact that I felt the pain than at the pain itself. The sheer sensation of that burn invigorated me; my whole being went into an ecstasy, reveling in the pain. That rapture was short-lived, as the burning ebbed away, returning my flesh to its normal temperature.

Immediately, I felt the effects of withdrawal. That searing, burning sensation...it was the only thing I had felt all day; the soul-deadening emptiness was too much for my weak spirit--I needed that pain. Quickly, I lit another cigarette; not bothering to even take a drag, I put it out against my arm, near where I had put out the last one. Once the ecstasy died away again, I lit the cigarette again, repeating the process over and over again until the entire cancer stick was gone.

Breathing heavily, I glanced down at my arms. They were covered in dark, roundish splotches, disfiguring the usual pale flesh. A twisted grin--something of a sadistic grimace--curled onto my lips; I couldn't help but recognize the twisted dementia in my reverie. I considered pulling out a third and continuing the process, but I was running low; in the past two days, I'd gone through half a pack--much more than usual. Sighing one last time, I returned inside, locking the door to the balcony behind me.

I trudged back toward my bed, tossing my cigarettes and the lighter onto the table with the answering machine along the way. Stripping out of my school clothes, letting them stay wherever they fell, I sauntered over to my bed, collapsing onto it and passing out almost immediately.

* * *

So that's the end of the first half. Yeah, half. This fic is longer than it was intended to be, by a lot; I wanted it to be done originally by page 7, but that's impossible for me to do. Anyway, hope you appreciated the change and could identify my smarminess that I'm so fond of. Review and all that jazz.


	2. By Design Immortal

So here's the long-awaited [ha, yeah right] part 2! Yes folks, there's more angst and emo-ness, so if you're feeling shitty, come, gather 'round! It'll make you feel better about your life--I know it made mine better. XD

Yes, I feel bad for Hayato. He's totally my favourite character in this show (with Squalo and all his rage a close second, followed by Bel and Flan and...well, they're all kind of badass, but I'll stop the list there), but I think he's secretly emo on the inside, so I had to write this all from his point of view. It just wouldn't have worked out with anybody else. So that's why he's all emo. *nods*

Oh, and congrats on getting through the long part. This chapter is uber short. I mean it. It's like, a third of the length of the last chapter. So you made it over the hump! :D

Disclaimer time! Reborn = not mine. Even more tragically, Hayato = not mine. It's a travesty.

* * *

It had been weeks since I had slept so soundly. Granted, it was only three hours' worth of sleep, but it was still bliss. When the shrill buzz of my alarm clock went off, I shut it off and dragged myself out of bed, based solely on instinct. The immense, soul-crushing emptiness had returned, dragging what was left of my old spirit down into an abyss. Shambling into the bathroom, I started the shower, allowing the water to heat up as I gathered my clean school clothes. Upon returning to the bathroom, I tossed my clean clothes before stripping out of my boxers, tossing them aside somewhere. I stepped into the shower, waking up slightly; as soon as the water touched the hours-old burns on my arm, it was as though I was being stabbed repeatedly on each of my burns.

I gasped, more in surprise than pain, before falling to my knees. I hadn't thought that the water would burn so; the sensation that a thousand needles were pricking my flesh was overwhelming. Seconds ticked by like hours as I embraced the pain, gradually acclimating myself to its harsh sting. Once the feeling died down to a dull ache, I was able to move again, and continued with my morning routine.

I hurried through my shower, dressed in record time, and came across a minor problem when I reached into an upper cabinet in the kitchen to retrieve my breakfast. The school uniform called for short-sleeved shirts...all of my burns were clearly visible, having been inflicted upon my forearms. Those marks wouldn't go unnoticed; I had to do something to obscure them. Shutting the cabinet, I moved to the other side of the kitchen, opening a lower cabinet where I kept my first-aide supplies. I kneeled down, searching through the unorganized mess for bandages.

It took longer than expected, but I eventually located them, pulling them from the mess in a tug-of-war fashion. Naturally, with my luck, I scratched my arms on the inside of the cabinet, elevating the residual pain. To be honest, I reveled in it, tempted not to cover the wounds for a few moments. When the ecstasy subsided, I wrapped my arms, hiding the reddish-black marks behind a veil of white cotton, pulling the material taught to ensure that it stayed in place throughout the day. Once I accomplished this task, I stole a glance at the clock. I had to leave, now; grabbing my books on the way, I darted out the door. Running at a leisurely pace, I managed to meet the 10th at the usual spot.

It was in this way that the next few days began for me.

The school day itself was something of a routine. I went through my classes in a daze, not entirely paying attention to what was going on. I certainly had no qualms about missing parts of class here and there to go to the roof for a smoke. Hibari invariably would find me, I'd make a smarmy comment, and I would allow him to beat me senselessly. Yamamoto wouldn't be pleased, and he would always have something to say about it, and I would ignore it. The two of them continued their sexual abuse; I slowly became desensitized to it, struggling less and less each time they touched my body: I simply didn't care anymore.

Yes, that apathy washed over me, drowning my former self in its heavy oppressiveness. What I once had been suffered, suffocating under the weight of this ennui. A part of me was dying, and there was nothing I could do about it. Even the rapture brought on by mutilation was losing its impact; by the end of the week, I wasn't feeling anything anymore.

I would have been depressed, if I could feel anything.

Saturday afternoon, after school ended, I sauntered some distance behind the 10th, Yamamoto, and Ryohei; I couldn't recall where we were headed, but I somehow got roped into joining them. Funny how I would give anything to spend the day with the 10th only a week ago, and now it seemed to be such a task. My mind was almost perpetually blank, a thought or two would float by, probably concerning my general failure at life; it was the mental incarnation of my apathy, my general emptiness and lack of reason for being.

This afternoon was the first time I considered taking drastic measures to end my lifelessness.

Apparently we were having lunch at the baseball-nut's dad's sushi place; he led us in with a cheery greeting to his father. The four of us sat down at the bar: turf-head on the end, then the 10th, then myself, and finally the baseball-nut. After we took a seat, his father happily bounded behind the bar and prepared to assemble our food. I saw a pattern of unnecessary happiness in this family.

The process of putting the food together couldn't hold my conscious attention (admittedly, my gaze came to rest on his quick hands, but my mind was in another location entirely), but there was something that ripped my mind from its existentialist ruminations. That knife, meant for slicing the log-like rolls into individual pieces, stole away my attention; the sharpness of the blade, the way it sliced so easily through the flesh. Something about its sleek design, its sharp edge, the shine of the steel...

"Gokudera, here's your food," Yamamoto informed happily, placing a plate in front of me. When he caught sight of the strange way I was staring at that knife, his face fell slightly. I don't think the others noticed.

Following our free meal, the four of us left the restaurant and headed toward the 10th's house. I think they said something about getting started on homework or God knows; I wasn't paying attention--my thoughts had lingered on the smooth sharpness of the knife. I couldn't help but imagine, in gory, graphic detail, the amount of damage one could--I could--do to their body with such a device. I had to know just what amount of pain I could inflict on myself--how much blood I could shed--before death took me. I had to.

My thoughts shifted to the acquisition of a blade. Where could I obtain one? Did I already have one? Well, I did have a few kitchen knives, but something told me that they wouldn't quite cut it--no pun intended. There had to be somebody who had one--

"Oof," I grunted, running into somebody. I guess I had been to enthralled with the prospect of a new torture for myself that I hadn't been watching where I was walking.

"Alright, Gokudera, I know something's up," Yamamoto stated factually, glaring down at me as though he was menacing.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He flicked his attention back toward the 10th and turf-head, making sure that they were inside before returning to me. Yanking my arm from my side by the wrist, he continued, "What's under these bandages?"

"I told you already, I got in a fight." It was a pretty pathetic lie, but I didn't care enough to think up a good one.

"I don't believe that for a minute." I forgot that he sometimes had a brain in there. "What really happened?" When I refused to answer him, he grabbed a piece of the cloth, ripping it quickly and unraveling it from my arm. Although the marks had begun to heal, the pinkish-brownish marks of the healing burns were still recognizable. I wasn't sure what to make of the look on his face.

"What...what did you...what did you do?" he finally stuttered out, apparently shocked and incomprehensive.

"Nothing of ill consequence," I replied, dragging my arm back and rewrapping it, tying the torn ends of cotton together. "It's fine."

"Were those...burns? How did you get burns like that? I can't even begin to imagine what you could use--"

Fate has always had a twisted sense of humor when it came to me. Before I even had a chance to come up with a lie, my half-finished carton of cigarettes fell from my pocket onto the ground at my feet, label-side up. Yamamoto, surprisingly, figured it out.

"You burned yourself with cigarettes? Why would you do such a thing?" Why was he so depressed about it?

"None of your business," I snapped, glaring at him. It wasn't any of his business, anyway; what did he care?

"Gokudera...how long have you been mutilating yourself?"

"It's not--"

He grabbed my upper arm forcefully, driving my attention directly into his stern eyes. "Hayato, how long have you been mutilating yourself?"

I don't know what it was about him in that moment, but something about his forcefulness wouldn't allow me to gloss over this question like I had been; I was compelled to answer truthfully. "Tuesday--Wednesday morning," I corrected, accounting for the hour.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Gokudera, what's wrong with you?" In that one moment, he sounded so sorrowful; I was almost empathetic. Almost. But it was as close to an emotion as I had come in quite some time now. "What's happening? You've changed, and we don't know why."

"I have not."

There was a silence following that half-assed denial. Both of us knew, at that time, that I had become something different, something...somehow...wrong. That realization struck me harder than when I had noticed that my old self had begun to drown in the sea of emptiness that had yet to entirely engulf me; Yamamoto merely seemed to be bothered by the fact that I had changed at all. I didn't care about him, though; I was engulfed in my own physiological horror, too enthralled to notice that the baseball-nut had moved closer toward me. I didn't even register his existence until he wrapped his arms around my shoulders in an embrace.

"I want to help you," he assured, holding me tighter than usual. "Don't push me away."

I wanted nothing more than to push him away. Unfortunately, he'd pinned my arms at my side, so I couldn't. There wasn't a way out without some manipulation; I wouldn't have done it if I could feel guilt. "Look, Yamamoto, I don't want to talk about it," I murmured, mustering up enough hurt in my voice as I could. "I'm trying to deal with it on my own, and I need to be able to do that. Please understand."

"Why? You know that I'm always here to help..."

I shook my head. "It's something I need to be able to work through for myself." God, if this got any sappier, I would vomit.

At least he bought it. Releasing me, he muttered, "I don't understand, but if it's something you have to do...I guess I can't stop you."

Was it wrong if my first thoughts were that I would be able to get out of this encounter without being molested?

"I just...I just want to make sure you're okay," he continued, his hand lingering on my shoulder. "Please don't hurt yourself. There are people who care about you."

Right. Just like I was the legitimate son of a mafia boss. "I'll do what I can." Somebody, please, make this conversation end.

"Oi! Yamamoto! Octopus-head! Are you guys coming or what?" turf-head shouted from the 10th's window.

I chose to ignore the insult. "I have something at home to take care of; I'll see you later," I managed to choke out as I turned in the direction of my apartment. "Tell the 10th I'm sorry." Force of habit, I suppose; I wasn't sorry at all. I think Yamamoto caught that as I walked off toward my home; I think I didn't care.

The afternoon light was beginning to fade by the time I got home that evening; I'd dragged my feet and taken as much time as possible to get back to the apartment. My thoughts had been fleeting again, but they were all about the blade. What was I going to do about it? Where was I going to get a hold of a good blade?

After walking in the door to my apartment, I began my search for a blade in the kitchen. I had a few knives, most of which were dull or rusted or far too small for my uses. The cleaver seemed rather much like overkill to me; I didn't think that hacking off my hand would yield enough pain over enough time to make it worth my while--after all, the pain wouldn't last more than half an hour, and then I'd be dead and handless. No, the cleaver wouldn't do.

I continued my search for a few more minutes; there wasn't anything worthwhile in my kitchen. At least, I didn't think there was until I got to the last drawer. Inside was a lone knife--a breadknife, nonetheless. It wasn't the smooth, perfect blade that Yamamoto's dad had, but it was sharp and jagged. I stared at the breadknife for a few moments, contemplating the possibilities. Pocketing it, I left the kitchen, moving into the living room and flopping down onto the couch. I stared blankly at the wall in front of me, hoping desperately that I could, perhaps, suppress enough apathy to bring myself to cut my flesh, just to see if I could feel the pain.

A few hours passed, I think. No thoughts really managed to permeate my consciousness, making it difficult to tell just how long it had been. I guess it didn't matter how long it had been, but I finally dragged the blade from my pocket, taking a moment to inspect the blade in the dim, incandescent lighting of the room. Still as sharp as I first thought it was, but now it seemed even more jagged; perhaps it was the intense shadows cast by the light. Either way, it seemed significantly more appealing now than when I had picked it up before.

Momentarily, I set aside the knife; I had to remove the bandages from my arm still. Carefully, I untied the knots before unwinding the dulled, greying bandages from my appendages, tossing them thoughtlessly to the floor. It didn't matter where they landed, I figured; I was the only one ever in the apartment, and I was fully aware of what I was doing. Picking up the knife again, I positioned it across my weaker forearm, hoping to find a perfect place for a cut.

I gritted my teeth, slicing into my arm. The teeth of the knife ripped at my flesh, dragging the muscle to the surface before shredding it entirely. Yes, it was painful, and yes, blood gushed all over the cheap, disgusting carpet, staining it crimson. But...But...

I dropped the knife on the floor, splattering more blood. Not a damn thing. I still couldn't feel a damn thing. There was a sensation of pain, but nothing like that first burn so many nights ago. I would have felt irritated, if I could feel anything.

That damn ennui had stolen the only thing I could feel; there was no reason for living with no sensation. I hoped that I would bleed to death so I wouldn't have to live a life without feeling.

My hopes went unfulfilled.

* * *

Ah! That's the end of this part! One more part to go! See ya at the update.

~Lord of Impeccable Timing


	3. Almost Ready Now

Welcome back! Thanks for hittin' up the fic and leavin' some reviews; it's appreciated, even if I'm too lazy to reply to them. I prefer to leave you with the wonderful new chapters as a thanks. ^^

DISCLAIMER TIME! :D

I don't own Reborn, its characters, or anything about it. This story's mine, but that's about it.

Oh, and, all the chapter titles/the title of the fic come from the song "Reborn" by Stone Sour. I couldn't help but put that little pun in there.

So, have at you! This is part 3 of 3 for this fic, so enjoy the ending!

* * *

I passed out sometime after sawing at my arm, obviously from blood loss. I don't know how the next few hours of my life panned out exactly, but I have a pretty good guess.

You see, every Saturday, the newspaper is delivered to each apartment in the complex, and the brat who delivers them collects his pay. If you don't answer the door, he'll come by the next morning to pick up his pay, really early to make sure you're home. Since I didn't answer either time, I can only assume he tried the door; I'd left it unlocked, too busy with my goal of obtaining a blade. He probably came in looking for me, and found my unconscious body on the couch with a puddle of blood. Since he's an idiot, he must have thought I was dead, and called 9-1-1. An ambulance would have then come, and the EMTs would have realized that I wasn't dead, and rushed me to the hospital. And that's how I wound up in the hospital.

Or so I assumed.

When I awoke, it was to the stale, bleached whiteness of the hospital room. At first I didn't understand where I was, and, after a moment, the realization hit, and I sighed. I had actually tried to kill myself, and failed. _Failed_. I was so pathetic that I couldn't even kill myself. How incompetent can I be--?

"You're awake."

That bland statement came from a source familiar to me, but I couldn't quite place it for the first few moments. I tried to turn my head, but somehow managed to pull something in the process, gasping in response. My efforts earned this smarmy retort:

"You've managed to hurt yourself without doing anything? Too bad you can't put that ability to good use."

Oh, that's who it was. "Hibari? What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer, surprisingly. Instead, his face flushed slightly as he turned his attention aside. That was an entirely useless response for me; it didn't aide in the comprehension of the situation at all.

"That's not an answer, and I can't see if you're glaring at me." It was a semi-truth; I could see him, sort of, but I doubt he knew that.

"I was just making sure you woke up," he muttered, getting to his feet. "If you weren't in class on Monday, I wanted to make sure you weren't skipping." I rolled my eyes, closing them afterward; my head was beginning to hurt again. As I lay there, I felt his presence hovering over me; I didn't bother opening my eyes.

He bent down until his lips hovered over mine, pausing there for a few moments. I could feel the heat rise in his face as he barely brushed my lips with his and his hand came to rest on my shoulder. Instinctively, I jerked slightly; I could feel Hibari smirk as he pulled back.

"Still got some fight in you," he murmured, amused, as he turned away. I heard his footsteps pause when he got to the door, as though he was listening to something; soon enough, I learned what he had heard.

"Has anything happened?" a female voice inquired; she must have been a nurse.

"He's awake." I heard Hibari's footsteps after that, and then the door closed.

There was a pause. Then I heard the girl's voice again. "He doesn't look like he's awake," she groused, louder than I think was necessary, sighing heavily. "That kid's something else."

"Your voice makes my head throb," I commented, opening one eye to glare at her. Rather, attempt to glare at her; I didn't really care enough about the situation to muster a glare.

"Oh!" She seemed genuinely surprised that I was awake. I guess Hibari wasn't really a trustworthy source of information in her eyes. "How long have you been awake?"

I didn't dignify that idiotic question with a response. "What was he doing in here?"

"Didn't he tell you?" I was right; she was a nurse. She made her way over to my bed, leaning over to check the IV drip in my dominant arm and the blood bag in the other. She glanced at me quickly, and, apparently seeing that I was trying to glare at her, she answered, "Well, he was the one to bring you in; he's been here since yesterday, waiting for you to get up."

"Why?"

"I don't know," she responded, scrawling something on the charts in her hands. "We tried to get him to leave, and he just glared...he's terrifying."

I shrugged--rather, I made the motion to shrug, but it didn't go so well. "If you say so."

"So what are you two, anyway?" That smirk on her face obviously meant nothing good.

"What do you mean?" Oh, how I wish I hadn't asked that as soon as it came out of my mouth.

"Like, are you two together, or--?"

Her sentence was cut off by the door flying open, allowing Yamamoto to rush in past the nurse; he was hardly able to stop himself when he reached my bedside, and collapsed on top of me in an embrace.

"Yamamoto! Get off of me!" I could barely choke my sentence out from under him; he was heavier than he looked. I jerked ever so slightly, and he immediately picked himself off of me.

"Gokudera, I'm so glad you're okay!" he gushed, tearing up a little. "I was so worried about you! When Hibari called and said you were in the hospital, I ran over here as fast as I could--"

"Yamamoto, shut up," I groused, shutting my eyes tightly. "You're giving me a headache."

"I'm so sorry, but I was just so worried--"

"What did I just say?"

"Sorry..."

I heard the nurse "cough" to cover up a snicker. "So you've got two...?"

"Don't you have a job or something?" I grumbled in exasperation. She gave me a particularly degrading smirk as she walked out of the room, shutting the door behind herself. I hoped she would get hit by a truck on the way home from the hospital when her shift ended.

"What happened?" Yamamoto immediately asked, drawing my attention toward him. "I got a call from Hibari about half an hour ago; he said you were in the hospital for blood loss. What's that about?"

"I lost a lot of blood," I informed, sighing. "What do you want me to say to you?"

"What were you doing that you lost so much blood? Didn't you go home from Tsuna's house?" I don't think Yamamoto was pleased with the fact that I was in the hospital. But...well, I guess you figured it out by now.

"You know, I don't really remember," I murmured, readjusting myself slightly to be more comfortable under his glare. The lack of a reply proved that he didn't buy that.

"Gokudera, if you've been mutilating yourself--"

"I don't mutilate myself--"

"Let me see your arm," he demanded, leaning over me slightly to ensure that I could see how serious he was.

"You've got to be joking--"

"Gokudera, let me see your arm." I lowered my eyes, staring at my limp limb; he realized that I was having difficulty moving. Taking my arm himself, he made a move to unwrap the bandages, pausing only when I interrupted him.

"Do you really think the nursing staff would approve of that?" I asked, attempting to pull my arm back. "I doubt that'd go over well."

The baseball nut looked angry, but understanding. "I want you to tell me what happened, then."

I paused, momentarily unable to think up a lie; after all, was there really anything I could say that wouldn't be completely obviously bullshit. It didn't matter, though; he recognized immediately that I was dreaming up a lie.

"Gokudera! You're trying to lie to me again!" he exclaimed, exasperated. "I can't believe you would do such a thing--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm a terrible, horrible person for lying to you," I groused, rolling my eyes again. "Is this conversation going anywhere, or are you just going to ride me for the next hour? If it's the latter, can we just skip to the part where you storm off in a huff?"

Yamamoto didn't reply for a few seconds, opting to stare idiotically at me instead. I chose to ignore him, as I could feel my head begin to throb again; just as I closed my eyes to rest, the baseball nut decided to open his mouth again.

"I'm just worried about you," he murmured quietly, leaning back in his chair slightly. "I just want to make sure you're okay..."

I groaned, wishing he would just leave me the hell alone; I think he was instigating my headache. "I told you I'd take care of it, now can we drop this?"

He leaned over me, making sure I could see his face. His brow was furrowed, his eyes narrowed in a glare; it was the first time I considered that he would be menacing. Surprisingly, I was unsure as to what his intentions were.

"Look, Hayato, I want you to tell me what's going on and how you got hurt," he demanded angrily. "If you don't, I'm going to tell Tsuna that you're mutilating yourself."

I blinked at him; no emotion passed over my face--hell, no emotion passed through me period. For the first time in a few days, I could feel the tiny part of my former self flare up in me, proving that it hadn't quite been eradicated yet. Of course, it was crushed immediately under the physical weight of my apathy, which produced this reply:

"I don't care."

The blatant rage in his expression dissipated into curious confusion and worry. I could just see the cogs turning in his head. _What does that mean? What's he thinking? What's he got planned?_ Yeah, that baseball nut wasn't very deep; it wasn't that hard to figure out what was going through his simple mind. That's what made his response completely unsurprising.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean that I don't care." There wasn't really any way to explain my complete lack of caring about...well...anything; I certainly wasn't going to mention the crushing emptiness.

He merely stared at me, his eyes grown wide before his brow furrowed in perplexity. It was painfully obvious that he was thinking again, but he spoke before I was able to figure out what he was thinking. "Gokudera, you've changed." It was a good thing he continued after that; I was about to scoff at him in a manner that would piss him off again. "It's certainly not for the better. I don't know what it is that you're going through, but I do know that you need help. Please, let me help you."

"Yamamoto--"

"I'm serious, Gokudera. I don't want you to be hurt anymore."

At that point, I was beginning to wonder why I was hurting myself and not him. Oh, that's right; he was useful. I stared at him, trying to find the answer he wanted to hear so he'd shut up and leave me the hell alone; for once, it wasn't written in his face, making everything significantly more difficult. Luck must have been on my side that day, as a nurse popped into the room at that moment.

"Visiting hours are over," she informed lightly, obviously trying to coax the baseball nut out of the room without being too bitchy. She could have been sterner than that, but he got the idea nevertheless.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he sighed, sluggishly getting to his feet. "Will you be discharged for school?"

"How should I know? I just woke up." The response was supposed to sound irritated, which would placate that baseball nut enough that he'd leave me alone for another couple of days; instead, it came out as lifeless and dead. This apathy was difficult to work with.

"Well, if you aren't in class, I'll stop by after school," he informed decisively while moving toward the door. As his hand grasped the doorknob, the idiot paused. Not looking at me, he asked, "What was Hibari doing at your house?"

If I had cared to notice, I would have caught the hint of jealousy on the tip of his tongue. I didn't. "When was he at my house?" It sounded moronic, but I was definitely unconscious by the time he showed up.

"Yes. He's the one that found you, remember?" His voice sounded slightly lighter, almost hopeful. Again, I didn't notice.

"Oh, yeah." I paused, confused. What _was_ Hibari doing at my house--how did he know where I lived? Yamamoto must have sensed that I was asking myself these questions, and apparently was pleased, as I heard him make that contemptuous smirk he so often employed before hurling a baseball at your face at mach speeds. I didn't even get a chance to ask what that was about before he shut the door.

Then again, it wasn't like I cared.

The next day, after I awoke, the nurse informed me that I could be discharged that day. She didn't say when that day, just that day. So I sat in my hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, waiting for somebody to come in and announce that I could leave. Surprisingly, there hadn't been many people entering my room that day, which made me glance over to the door every time I even thought it was opening. Finally, at an hour past school's end, the nurse poked her head in the room.

"Has Romeo had any visitors today?" she snickered, covering her mouth with the charts in her hands. I ignored her. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter; you're discharged. Free as a bird." I didn't budge. "You can leave--"

"I was waiting for you to shut up and leave first," I interrupted, sitting up and throwing my feet over the side of the bed. She looked only slightly offended, as my voice didn't hold as much malice as it should, and left wordlessly. I sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, mustering up enough strength to get to my feet.

As I stood, I heard the door open again (I didn't look at first, as I had assumed that it was the nurse back to mock me); before I could get off my disclaiming statement, the person who entered murmured a greeting.

"Hayato Gokudera, I was told that you were discharged from the hospital, and yet you weren't at school today. Your truancies are terribly frequent."

I glanced up at Hibari, sighing. "I was just discharged not two minutes ago," I responded, stretching. Getting out of bed was certainly good for my body. "What are you doing here?"

There was a pause before he responded. "I told you, I was checking your truancies."

"Then what were you doing at my house the other day? How do you even know where I live?" As I questioned him, I made my way over to the door, not really listening for an answer but focusing on how my body was functioning. Nothing seemed amiss, which was... good isn't the best word, but I had no other.

Hibari seemed rather awkward, standing silently and shifting slightly. I would have pressed the matter, had I cared. Just as I stepped out the door, he blurted out an answer.

"I was checking up on you. You seemed amiss that day, and I wanted to make sure you were alright."

I stopped dead in my tracks, stupefied. Had...had he and Yamamoto...Were they both scheming together...? Both of us wished I hadn't asked the next question that came out of my mouth. "Why?"

The look that came to Hibari's face...I had seen it before. At first, I couldn't place where I'd seen that awkward, blushing expression...and then it hit me. That very first day, in the school clinic...Yamamoto looked exactly like that when he... I shook my head and walked away. I didn't want to deal with that. Not again. Not with Hibari. Wasn't it bad enough that he and Yamamoto were assaulting me on a daily basis? Did they have to bring their false notions of affection into this unholy debacle?

I don't know if he followed me. I imagine that he did, at least for a little while, but I was definitely alone when I arrived at my shitty little apartment. The door hadn't been shut since I left, apparently, and none of the people who had been inside bothered to clean up the blood. Not that I expected any more from them.

That afternoon, I did nothing. I sat on the railing on my tiny balcony, smoking and thinking. I couldn't tell you what sort of mind-numbing existentialism occupied my brain, but I do remember thinking of death. A lot. I couldn't help but wonder what was going to happen in the next life. Would I return to the person who I once was? I recall searching for him in that time, but he was long gone, having suffocated under the masochistic ennui that had been my life over the past few days. Did that version of me even exist on the other side? Was there even another side? What would become of me after departing from this life?

I mulled over the concept. Would anybody miss me? The 10th and the baseball nut always said that they would. Turf-head acted like he would. Even Hibari seemed like he might. But my knowledge of people lead me to the conclusion that they were lying; I don't know what they got out of their lies, but something had to come from them. My deduction: no. Nobody would miss me. They might mourn for a couple of days, but my passing wouldn't be a marking point in any of their lives.

As night began to fall, my mind became concerned with how I would accomplish the task. Slicing my flesh left too much time for somebody to discover me. Suffocation never worked without an accomplice; the body was too well-tuned to allow its conscious possessor to suffocate it. Shocking my body simply had no appeal. I had no place to hang a noose from in my apartment. Logistically, I had no way to eliminate myself, even if I had come to the conscious decision that I wanted it done.

That night was unseasonably cool. The crisp air blurred in the smoke of my cigarette, returning to its stillness as the haze dissipated. I leaned back against the railing, drawing in another drag. There was a loud creak, followed by a louder crack.

And suddenly, I was falling.

The sensation of weightlessness. The rush of the wind. The cool night air. The warmth of the cigarette just before it escaped my lips. Was I...was I dying? Had fate conspired again to harm me?

I hoped that my dead soul had the chance to escape my limp body. And then I hit the ground.

* * *

I know, I know, it pains me too. But it was the best ending, I think, and I'm the author, so my word is law! Thanks for reading, and I'll see you around in the next story. I'll try for something happier next time. ^^


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